What If We Existed
by dandylion13
Summary: A collection of memories.
1. Preface

Timeline & context headcanons for my unique Beyond Birthday & the people in his life.

* * *

Beyond was born April 3rd, 1982, making him three years younger than L.

Beyond's half sister, Rosetta, was born October 2nd, 1976.

Beyond's family name is Espina. His true first name is Jahleel.

Gigi/Gilda, my Wammy's House OC, was born May 12th, 1987.

* * *

Beyond is the son of a Shinigami named Oshigai & a witch. Oshigai leads a Revolution feat in the Shinigami Realm consisting of a dozen other Shinigami who plan to overthrow the Shinigami King. Together they bore about two dozen half Shinigami children on Earth. The Revolution begins once all these children die & pass into the Shinigami Realm. Beyond is the strongest of them all, being the son of the leader of this plot.

Beyond & Rosetta's mother dies when Beyond is 6 & Rosetta is 12. They're sent to live with their grandparents in a town full of retirees just outside of Los Angeles. However, Beyond's devious & haunting aura caused his grandparents to relinquish guardianship of him just a handful of months later before placing him in a Californian orphanage where Quillsh Wammy found him six months later. Beyond is 7 years old when he enters Wammy's House.

Beyond runs away from Wammy's House shortly after the following events; when he was 17, A committed suicide which he was prompted to do by L formally choosing him to be his successor when the first child turned 18. When Beyond turned 18 a few months later, L formally rejected Beyond as his successor. Beyond does not understand why but the actual intention was this; after A's suicide, L discarded the possibility of any of the first generation becoming his successor, & though Beyond would have been fit to take the title, L did not find it morally correct.

Beyond hides out in Los Angeles for two years before committing the murders at age 20. Upon arrest, Beyond is taken to a hospital equip to care for life threatening burn injuries, where he stays for nearly a year. A complication arises when Beyond gets a severe infection which causes him to lose both of his legs. After his amputations & his infection has receded, his court case begins. It drags on monstrously &, inevitably, Beyond pleads & is ruled not guilty by way of insanity.

He spends the next 19 years of his life in a prison for the criminally insane, initially serving a life sentence. However, he is freed with parole in the summer of 2021 for exemplary rehabilitation & good behavior.


	2. Chapter 1

July 8th, 1995  
United Kingdom, Europe

* * *

"Do you think we exist?"

The wistfulness in Beyond's tone took him aback for a moment; subtly, he questioned the fact himself, though he's never had reason to before then.

"I suppose we do." He tried to match that longing in his companion's voice, but in comparison, he sounded mechanical. As always. "Why?"

Beyond's silent then, as a hand reached up. It looked like he was attempting to grab a cloud from the sky. L thought he might be successful - that if anyone could anchor a cloud to the earth, it'd be Beyond.

"Doesn't it feel like..." He hesitated, brows furrowed as he let his hand drop. "Like we're just manifestations. Manifestations of each other's, I don't know...desires? ...I don't know..." There was madness clear in his voice then; madness & insanity in words he, himself, would describe as inane.

But L didn't see it that way. L was hanging on every word Beyond was spewing just then, as blasphemous as the concept itself was. As always, he found it difficult to follow Beyond's train of thought, to truly understand what the other was attempting to get at. It made him feel dumb. Right then, he really did feel tragically dumb.

"What would I be the manifestation of, I wonder..."

"Loneliness." Beyond responded without missing a beat, a decisiveness in his tone. With that, it was obvious he had spent too much time thinking on this topic, but even so, L couldn't disagree.

"Loneliness..." He repeated, nodding at the sky. "& what would you be?"

L expected an immediate answer again, but instead, Beyond's mouth opened & closed just as quickly; a disturbed expression found everywhere but in his empty eyes.

"Brashness, maybe." That was a lame answer & both of them knew it - both of them thought that at the same time.

"Brashness..." Again, L repeated & attempted to let disappointment color the word. "What about ... boredom, instead." It was neither a question nor a suggestion; just as Beyond had chosen his definition, he had chosen Beyond's.

The intended successor scoffed at that, a lopsided smile appearing on his mouth. "Boredom. I like that."

L could hear the smile in Beyond's tone then, & a similar expression painted his features. "Boredom & loneliness..." It was an entertaining idea, at least; to have been borne of someone else's imagination. "Are you very bored with me, then?"

"Of course not." L thinks his heart had stopped just then, with how resolute Beyond had spoken. "Though you're still lonely with me here." His throat felt like it was tightening & he could only assume it was to keep the fire suddenly scorching his intestines inside. L nodded, because it was all he could do then; though Beyond hadn't been looking for confirmation, he realized after the silence had begun to drag on.

It was just another statement.


	3. Chapter 2

April 3rd, 1988  
Panama, Central America

* * *

"Chiquito!" A woman's voice echoed out across the close knit forest-edge hamlet to reach the river bank.

The little boy in question did not call back, as yelling was not something he enjoyed doing; instead, he dropped the frog who he had been having a staring contest with for the passed few minutes & found his way back home at his own pace - despite the urgency in his mother's tone. As he approached the tired looking thatched house, the woman barged out & inhaled, intending to yell louder this time. Instead, she exhaled in relief as her eyes settled on the boy's dirt caked face.

"There you are, boy. Hurry, get inside & wash up. Your father will be here soon, won't he?"

The child nodded & obediently rounded the house to retrieve the pail. It had rained last night & queerly, he preferred that water.

"Had he told you an exact time, boy?" His mother leaned against the sagging house - he wished she wouldn't but would not tell her to do otherwise. Instead, he dipped his cupped hands in the pail & splashed water onto his face before shaking his head.

The woman huffed in exasperation & mumbled on about something he could not make out as she shut herself in the house again.

He didn't know why she asked such a question. It seemed rather pointless. Today was his birthday. Last year, his father said he'd arrive at the same time he had, every year. Perhaps his mother had forgotten that - perhaps his mother had forgotten what time she had given birth to him.

He would not be surprised.

The water in the pail had turned a sickly brown by the time a swooping sound was heard in the air. It reminded him of an over-sized vulture - even the shadow cast on the ground could be said to look the same.

That was the cue for his mother to barge from the house again & greet his father. They would disappear into the woods now, after his own greeting of a small wave was completed.

The child then sat & waited in front of his house; he preoccupied his mind by collecting questions he had thought to ask his father throughout the year. Other children may had written them down to ensure their preservation over three hundred & sixty-five days, but this particular boy did not see the point in that. He could remember them clearly enough, including what thoughts had led up to which questions & what occurrences were taking place, as well.

For example, a foreign man once visited the village in autumn. He wanted to learn the ways of the people here. A second name was given to him, as typical of their culture. The child recalls staring at the bloody letters above the man's head, wondering if names could change as the digits could & if there was an exact science to that sort of thing.

That would be the first question he'd ask his father, the child thought to himself before continuing down lines of crystal clear memories.

The cruel sun was just interrupted by the horizon as his parents emerged from the forest covered in leaves, dirt, & ghosts. The child's eyes immediately glanced above his mother's head; the smoky red numbers had changed. The five had turned into a six.

He wondered what was so great about screwing a demon, but then curiously questioned how his own numbers fluctuated.


	4. Chapter 3

December 14th, 1996  
United Kingdom, Europe

* * *

Staring into the mirror with a perturbed expression, the first child pinched a lock of discolored hair between his fingers. Maybe, he thought, it was a B-12 deficiency (among a slue of other possible causes he chose to ignore). He made a mental note to grab a bottle of over-the-counter melanin the next time he went into town but before he could decide on what to do for the unsightly patch temporarily, a ghost appeared behind him, giving him a start.

The second child snorted as his elder jumped at the mere sight of him. "It should be me jumping, really," Beyond mocked, noting the other's pallid features in the mirror they made eye contact through. "You're nearly translucent at this point."

Rolling his eyes, A dropped his hand which had flung to his chest & diverted his attention back to the splotches of grey & white worming their way through his otherwise dark hair. "You should learn to knock." He retorted, still seeming rather annoyed at Beyond's intrusive appearance.

"& you should learn to go outside more, by the looks of it." The younger quipped back easily, somehow having crossed the distance to be at A's side without the latter noticing. He leaned on the wall then, next to the mirror to see A's face without the filter. "You're rotting."

A hated when Beyond said such ominous things; with those words, he was suddenly aware of how his very cells rushed towards entropy. "We all are." He said, obviously struggling to maintain the airiness Beyond had used.

Tension rose for a moment & A aimed to keep eye contact with himself in the mirror rather than with the apparition staring at him so intensely from the side. It was a typical occurrence at this point, to wonder why Beyond was even here. A nearly asked, his mouth almost opened to question what the younger's presence foreboded of, but Beyond beat him to the punch; which was another trend.

He laughed, the quiet, corrupted sound sending something churning in the pit of A's stomach. "Maybe you should just dye it." Beyond teased. His hand reached out & went to pinch that same lock of hair between his fingers but A maneuvered out of the way first, dipping back slightly & then keeping his head down.

Out of the corner of his eyes now, A thought Beyond's face morphed into an animal's; the younger's mouth seemed to be a muzzle for a moment & that smirk was malicious. If A looked directly at him, would there be blood dripping from those canines?

"White's a good color on you." Beyond observed with finality, though A couldn't say when he had disappeared from view. His voice came from behind, close to the door he'd assume, though he suddenly felt too sick to move his head & check.


	5. Chapter 4

November - February, 2002  
Los Angeles, California

* * *

It started out rather innocent. The second time he had been able to call down & order his own breakfast, he asked for white toast & scrambled eggs, just like he had the first time. When asked what type of condiments he'd like, he requested butter & ketchup. The kitchen delivery had left the hall by the time he had slid the plate's cover off, with much difficulty, & saw that instead of a square container of butter, they had given him one of strawberry jam.

He didn't think much of it, honestly, figuring the order had just been mistaken; the phones here were full of static & crackled often. It could've just been that the person on the phone misheard him. It didn't matter. He liked strawberry jam as much as butter on his toast.

The second time something like this happened, he pieced it together simply. It was a week later, during lunch. Now in a decent enough routine of ordering his own food, the kitchen staff recognized his voice after a few words each time. Nevertheless, he aimed to keep the peace & ordered a slice of pizza that was bound to be from the freezer. It took him slightly less time, progressively, to slip off the plate's cover; today, the kitchen deliverer's hauler just began squeaking away as his eyes settled on the familiar square of strawberry jam.

The connection was an easy one to form & he actually found a small bit of humor in it. Someone in the kitchen had alerted the rest of the staff as to who he was, what he had done, & why there were two perpetual guards outside his door who, no doubt, checked each plate of food brought inside meticulously. Well, he had thought, biting into his soggy pizza slice, it seemed the details of his case were finally public knowledge.

From there, receiving a square of strawberry jam with whatever he actually ordered each meal became routine. He wondered if everyone in the kitchen was aware to why they were doing this, or if it had become some sort of inside joke where context didn't apply anymore. For certain he knew, at least, that one person down there figured it out. He also wondered if unnecessary strawberry jam was as far as this little prank would go, or if he should start being a bit wary with what he let himself eat.

Two months passed & he had just begun walking rehabilitation when things got interesting again. The kitchen deliverer smiled at him as she set down his dinner tray; he dared to smile back, sitting there at the edge of his bed. The accomplishment was small, but it placed him in an accepting mood. He'd eat dinner sitting up tonight, but soon wondered if he'd be able to stomach the piece of chicken at all.

He picked up the plate's container civilly & placed it aside. The hauler had hardly left the room by the time his eyes settled on two squares of strawberry jam. He blinked, head cocked to the side, & felt his stomach jump. The notion felt foreboding & self-made premonitions were never questioned.

The next day, he was sure to order nothing that needed a spread for breakfast. Just eggs, he said, to which the man on the other end of the phone repeated like a question. Just eggs. Of course it didn't matter what he ordered; when the plate arrived, again, were two squares of jam. He could not eat his eggs that morning.

This too, became routine, & he did adjust. They started to talk about transferring him, finally, to the long-awaited prison. Now that you can walk mostly by yourself again, they said, the state's going to have less lenience with you. Lenience, he thought, was that what this heavily guarded, solitary rehabilitation was? Lenience? He's scarcely seen a soul, aside from the dreaded kitchen deliverer, in his near half-year stay. Lenience, he grumbled. Lenience would be an asylum from here. At least there he'd have a properly-functioning phone.

He discovered later that the lenience here was found in how undisturbed his stay was. Compared to the events in prison, strawberry jam was welcomed.

The innocence of this prank had nearly dried out. It was finally lost, utterly, when one kitchen staff became brave & slathered the otherwise perfectly cooked piece of pork in obviously store brought strawberry jam. This was a malicious action, he realized immediately. The sting of the jest would've been mildly pacified if the jam used had come from the tiny, square containers he had been accustomed to so far but no; someone had gone out of their way to bring a jar of the stuff to work this day. Insult is often found in one's intention & though he couldn't say insult was what he directly felt, the stranger's scorn was noticed & the meaning to this prank was seen.

He felt haunted, & not because a familiar ghost was fleetingly seen in the mirror this morning. His reputation had already begun to precede him. He couldn't bring himself to complain; in theory, this is what he had asked for. He just didn't expect to live long enough to see it.


	6. Chapter 5

November 26th, 1999  
United Kingdom, Europe

* * *

The end was near, which wasn't a combination of words Beyond enjoyed very much. The digits above A's head were dwindling; it seemed he knocked another number off each day with his own thoughts. Beyond could not stand the sight. Watching A slip away like this … His throat constricted every time the ghost of his former friend slipped by him.

It was a depressing irony that, in these last few months, A distanced himself from Beyond. Like a wounded animal, A isolated; retreated to the corners of his room & seemed content to die alone. Beyond reached & reached for the soul to come back. Just a few more days, he wanted to beg at times; just spend a few more days than you'd like. _Perhaps I could convince you to stay a while longer like that._

To that mission, Beyond visited A's room again today. The door was always closed & sometimes, that was enough to stop the second child. Other times, the hallow look A would give him upon entering was enough. On braver days, it took the silence the first child gave him as he attempted a conversation. Today would be different; Beyond was brazen to stay as long as it took to knock the glass from A's eyes & elicit a response. Any response, any at all. He would accept the older boy yelling at him. He would accept his tears. Just not silence. Beyond could not take any more silence.

Beyond inched the door open; the knob was freezing, which spoke far more about the room on the other side than it did about his own, perpetually icy hands. He swallowed, prepared for almost anything. The other day, he had entered & found A tearing pages from the journal he kept under his pillow. Two weeks ago, Beyond had found A on his second bottle of aged wine, stolen from Roger's office. It pained him; those sights took years from his own life, he was sure. But as prepared as Beyond thought he was, he had been sorely proven wrong.

He snaked through the door, pushing it open only enough to fit his small frame through, as though he could sneak up on A, before letting his eyes search for whatever mess the older child was currently in. His breath was stolen at the sight that greeted him. Dizziness blurred his vision - & then anger. A had a razor poised at his wrist in a vertical aim. The cut had not been made yet, but even if it had, it wouldn't have been a lethal one; which was the only shred of redemption found here, above the first child's head. Saline streamed steadily down A's red & distraught face; his hands shook. The usually immaculate room was in mass disarray.

Beyond slammed the door behind him & charged up to A, feeling his own eyes burn; his whole body burned, frankly. This anger, this rage, this fury was unknown. Beyond thought he had never felt this warm in his life.

He stole the blade from A & shoved up his own sleeve. The fiery embers that had become his eyes stared daggers at the older boy as Beyond positioned the sharp thing at his inner elbow.

"Is this what you want?" Beyond's voice cracked & hitched, the words exploded from him like an untamed volcano. "This is what you were about to do."

Beyond dragged the razor down his own arm, slightly to the right of the vein that could've killed him. Beads of ruby followed in the drawn trail. A's tears had stopped the moment Beyond had snatched the blade from him but the distraught expression only amplified as he watched his friend mutilate himself.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" A yelled, shaking hands reaching to bat the sharp thing from Beyond's hand unintelligibly. He allowed it to be displaced; the now bloody silver fell to the floor & Beyond dropped his arm. The floorboards were stained with his otherworldly essence.

Beyond's head fell & he stared at A's feet. The anger was ebbing slowly, perhaps shocked away by the jolt of pain he had given himself. It seemed all but gone by the time A delicately gripped Beyond's wrist.

"...You...you could've died...idiot…" A whispered, turning the younger boy's arm to inspect the bleeding incision that sliced several inches down Beyond's skin.

"So could've you." The second child retorted, voice no more than a whisper as his eyes, veiled behind hair that had fallen in his damp face, surveyed his arm from the corner of his vision with detached regard. Silent moments continued on & Beyond wished he could feel A's fingers against his skin like that forever. They watched as the younger boy's blood seeped from the crevasse & onto his skin; then onto the floor, as though they had never seen something bleed before. Eventually, Beyond felt another type of dizziness fill his head.

"Is that what you wanted?" The younger boy questioned, tone pleading despite the fact that he would still not look up. "Do you want to hurt like this?"

A's finger hesitantly reached to trace a bubble of red down the side of Beyond's pale skin before it dripped between them. A was unsure how to answer that. He, for one, did not want Beyond to be in pain like this. He could not explain why he wanted himself to be in this pain when so much of the stuff was eroding away at his mind already. A chewed his raw lips until red seeped into his teeth. Beyond realized this silence would go on forever now. He had gotten a response from A, for as little as it meant. He had gotten what he came for but found that it wasn't enough.

"I already do." A eventually whispered, pale eyes searching for Beyond's.


	7. Chapter 6

Gigi / Gilda Nnamani is an OC of my own creation. C mentioned here is a reference to caustic-c on tumblr.

* * *

March 11th, 1994

United Kingdom, England

* * *

Beyond enjoyed the solidarity of the greenhouse. The overgrown vines that hung from above & twisted through the glass panels created an overcast that reminded him of his home in Panama. It was typically silent in here & there was no one but ghosts to look at. Well, aside from C who enjoyed his own form of botany which was surrounded around poisonous plants. A few months ago, after constantly arguing & shoving each other's planters aside, they had finally reached an agreement to split the greenhouse down the middle. So far, it had gone without incident; though when C was not around, Beyond often did lean in close to the other boy's plants & observe them, which was something he knew C would throw a fit about if he was ever caught.

But today was another peaceful morning. Beyond often slipped into the greenhouse before classes began. He hated the early morning on the principle of liking sleep far more, but there was magic in the dew that could be found on his plants at this time; tangible otherworldly essence could be smelled in the air. Besides, if he didn't water & tend to his plants now, he'd surely be too tired or preoccupied to do so after class.

Beyond was in the middle of counting the leaf sprouts on his newly planted Agrimonia when an all too familiar voice was heard.

"Beee~ Beee~!" It sang, moments before the doors to the greenhouse were flung open & disregarded by an obnoxious presence. "There you are~!"

It was Gigi, of course. The young girl waltz in wearing, what seemed to be, newly purchased designer clothes. Beyond's eyes had already felt tired with the morning, but just being near the other child zapped him of what remaining energy he had left.

"What do you want, G." Beyond stated flatly, reaching for a clipping tool under the table. He aimed it at a pesky tuff of weed that was encroaching on his Fennel which had been growing strong so far.

"You should greet a girl nicer than that." Gigi huffed, leaning against the table diagonal from Beyond's position. He paused & watched the planters bobble & tetter at her movement before they settled back into place. His silence, which carried on then as he precisely trimmed his choking plant informed Gigi that he did not plan on answering that inane comment.

"I came~ to show off my new outfit!" She exclaimed, arms gesturing down at her elaborate clothes. Why she thought he'd be interested in such a thing, was truly beyond him, but he glanced over with a sarcastic gaze & blinked at the new clothes.

"Dare I ask where you got the money this time." Beyond breathed, setting down the tool & reaching for the rusted watering can next. He dribbled cold water over his various plants, a calculated amount falling into each platner according to the contained plants' needs.

"Not nefariously." Gigi giggled, a glint in her eyes. "I found a wad of cash when I went looking for you yesterday in the church."

Beyond's hand stopped & a few lingering drops of ice water dripped off the holed exit. Something began to tremble in him. The feeling did not bubble over into his voice, however, which remained constrained & even.

"...Just where in the church did you find it?" Something ominous filled the air around Beyond & Gigi would be a fool if she didn't pick up on it.

She paused, dainty brows knitting to pinch on her forehead. When she spoke, her voice was tight & rather devoid of her usual confidence. Gigi could never place what it was about Beyond that scared her when he was like this, but she supposed it was the same thing that kept everyone else from engaging him in the first place.

"It was in the confession box, I think where Priests used to store Rosaries they'd give to confessors & stuff." She rushed to explain, watching the color around Beyond sink into grayscale.

Beyond took a deep breath, but didn't know why. Gigi deserved to be blown up at right then; she utterly deserved the rage that was coursing through him. The watering can trembled in his hand.

"Did you even think that the money belonged to someone?" Beyond enunciated, speaking slowly. His dark hair was obscuring his face which pointed away from Gigi; he was afraid of what his expression was like just then.

"Uhm….uh...I-I guess I … didn't." Gigi fumbled, beginning to back out of the greenhouse. She realized by now that it was, apparently, important money she had taken. Whether it was Beyond's or just money Beyond had known about, she didn't know; but she didn't need to understand the details to comprehend the fair amount of danger she was in.

Beyond ground his teeth; his blood felt hot. That money … It was from his grandmother; what money his family in California could spare whenever they decided to write him. That money … Beyond didn't know what he was saving it for but a ghost whispered in his ear that he better save it; that something would happen one day where he needed emergency funds. He took that warning very serious & had not spent a cent of it.

He placed the watering can down as easily as he could, but it still clattered against the tile under the table. Gigi was closing in on the doors then, & though her eyes were trained on him, he suddenly appeared inches from her face. The inexplicable movement coiled her stomach with something awful. This was why people stayed away from Beyond, wasn't it? People had warned her to, but she hadn't listened. Oh, why didn't she listen...

"Gilda Nnamani," He said her name like it was a curse & Gigi swallowed. She thought it was a rumor that Beyond knew everyone's names - What else about him was true? Her hands shook.

"You're going to return everything you bought with that money." Beyond instructed her, voice low & cautionary. He took steps closer to her as he spoke, seeming to emphasize each word with an equivalent action. Gigi began to nod her head as she glanced over her shoulder to calculate how far the door was now. Just a few more feet. Could she run for it? Should she?

"You're going to hand me every penny of that money." Beyond licked his lips, the action not aimed at being malicious but rather a nervous tick. He didn't want to lash out & injure Gigi, really; she was a stupid girl, he thought. Impulsive. Reckless. Idiotic. Thoughtless. People like that … Didn't deserve pain. They were just sheep.

"& if you don't…" Gigi's hand rested on the tarnished bar of the door behind her. Her gaze finally navigated away from Beyond's burning eyes & appraised the rest of his face; the action caused him to hesitate & with that, Gigi bolted from the room.


	8. Chapter 7

Jahleel is my headcanon for Beyond's true name, as it is canon that Beyond Birthday was a name chosen or given to him once he arrived at Wammy's House. Rosetta is an OC of my own creation.

* * *

1976-1987

Panama, Central America

* * *

Life in abject poverty is dangerous, no matter where you are in the world; but it is especially so when your home lies on the outskirts of a poor village, where the territory between the wild jungle & your home seem to thin more every day.

There were no other children near here aside from Rosetta, & her little brother, who was deemed the name Jahleel up on his birth. Even if there were, they were bound to avoid this family altogether. Every time their mother hurried them into the trading portion of their neighboring homes, the trio received odd looks; hushed tones were scattered & more like the whiff of air around rotten meat than the rustling of leaves.

They avoided going into town as frequently as they could. They foraged the forest edge for berries & mushrooms; collected rain water that dripped off their thatched roof. Occasionally, when Rosetta was feeling particularly brave, she ventured into the woods & came back towing a corpse. Her little brother was fascinated with the red on her hands. The knife she used was special, their mother explained; but Rosetta wanted nothing to do with that. They cooked the meat on a branch, whose bark had been peeled away. Rosetta & Jahleel took turns rotating it above the fire their mother lit skillfully. Jahleel was often too captured by the flames to pay attention when the meat would begin smoking; his side was usually burnt. Their mother said that was the portion he must eat.

Rosetta knew her brother was not normal even as he formed in their mother's stomach. The girl did not know which man was his father but it was not the same man that created her. She had never met that man, but somehow, she knew they were different.

As a child, Rosetta watched her mother speak to the plain air. She had watched with fascination as one day, a black & worn notebook appeared in her mother's hands. She had seemed to pull it from another dimension, entirely. Her mother was a witch; Rosetta knew that as well as she knew she wanted no part in it. She could not stop, however, the signature itch behind her left ear that curled her stomach forebodingly.

Her mother was different, yet Rosetta was another breed from her, as well. Outcasted by her name sake, she often snuck into town in search of odd jobs to be completed. Her skirt would be askew as she wandered home hours later, a basket of fresh fruit balanced on her head & an utter disregard for the shame people expected of her. Rosetta was a beautiful girl; an enchanting creature who could bat her eyes at the men in town. They would never get sick of her curved figure.

Rosetta was crafty, a trait she would claim as her own rather than attribute to something as frivolous as magic. She spat on the word & though her mother smeared the dirt in her face, her resolution would not flinch. She was a brave girl who did not realize how many times death had stared at her. If she could, she'd have glared back. She was deviant this way; but her brother ... he was special.

Jahleel. He wore the name like a brand. 'God waits.' He did not know of God nor for what he waited until he was four years old. His father was never to be called such. Oshigai, the twisted figure commanded; The Revolution King.

Rosetta sparingly engaged her brother. His aura repelled her yet attracted spiders, worms, & maggots. She could not set the boy down for more than five minutes lest the creatures be found crawling through his nose, burrowing in his ears. He did not seem to mind as much as he did not seem to notice. Rosetta observed him like he was something their mother had dug from the ground rather than a child that had grown within her. Her brother was different.

His golden eyes morphed into black voids the older he grew, though regardless of their color, they watched Rosetta with an intensity that made her quite uncomfortable. She taught him survival basics, yet as they wandered the river's edge together, Jahleel seemed to know far more than her; far more than she had taught him. Without being instructed, he instinctively knew where to dig in the moist, rich dirt for roots that would go into their stew. With no pride he would hold them up to his older sister & declare their name in a tongue she did not know. Her brother was different.

When Jahleel turned five, he began to observe her in a way that made her curious. He watched the air above her head & in his eyes, she could see gears turning. He often practiced writing with a stick in the dirt; his letters were scrawled, always large, & never uniform. Once she had seen numbers being written & mathematical signs she did not have names for. When her brother realized she was watching, he quickly snuffed out his work with the brush of his foot. She attempted to ask him where he had learned that. Jahleel said simply that he was not allowed to say. Her brother was different.


End file.
